


Red is a Madness

by hoars



Series: tell me we're dead and i'll love you even more [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Blood Play, F/M, Family Drama, M/M, Madness/Insantiy, Minor Character Death, Outdoor Sex, Pack Family, gory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-10
Updated: 2012-11-10
Packaged: 2017-11-18 08:36:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/558992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hoars/pseuds/hoars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Kill her, kill her!” Allison shrieks over and over.</p><p>Her mother’s face only has time to show betrayal before the pack descends on her. All the werewolves ripping chunks of Victoria Argent from her bones. The other hunters shouting in confusion and horror because now the ground is level. Before the pack ran and didn’t engage. Now the hunters run, the ‘wolves tearing them all apart and she’s viciously glad, wants them all to die for daring to take what’s hers.</p><p>(companion to Red is Vicious)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Red is a Madness

**Author's Note:**

> Character Deaths are Chris Argent and Victoria Argent.
> 
> Red induced insanity in the human pack members.
> 
> Um, very strange piece that is companion piece to Red is Vicious. Was also written nearly at the same time as Festival of Red, so if there are similarities... And I know there's a misspelled word somewhere in here. I /know/ it, but can't find it.

He never thought of red as the color of madness before, but here he is, gushing the color on the kitchen floor, unable to believe the same girl he fell in love with through sonograms and the kick of her feet is staring at his blood on her hands like she’s never seen the color before. Chris Argent isn’t sure what’s killing him faster, the stab wounds his baby girl gave him, or watching her lick his blood off her fingers, curious as a kitten.

“Allison,” He says, tries to.

The girl in red who stole his daughter finally looks at him, her eyes clear and loving.

“It’s okay to die now.” She reassures him. “My mate and I will be happy and so will you.” She smiles the same smile he’s seen for months, since they moved to Beacon Hills and he’s dying, fading away and he wants to tell his wife it’s the red. They should have been watching for the _red_.

He dies.

000

Maybe if someone had intervened from the beginning, red would have stayed in the background, hovering in details of today. If Peter Hale had died. If Stiles had slept through the police scanner. If the bite hadn’t taken. If someone had charmed Allison first. If Derek had ripped the boy’s throat out. If. If only someone had done something.

But no one did.

Peter lived. Stiles listened. Scott survived. Allison saw only one pair of eyes. Derek controlled himself.

When she meets him, the boy to her girl, Allison falls in love. It’s nothing how her father said it would be, a slow process that would squeeze everything else from her heart. It’s nothing how her aunt laughed about, all overpowering high and control. It’s just love at first sight. She sees him and knows with every strand of DNA he’s hers.

Scott doesn’t disagree.

“I love you.” She tells him two months after they meet, hours after she learns his secrets, forty minutes after her aunt dies, the moon guarding them in a pale light. “Both of you.”

“I love you too.” He sounds so shy, as if she would reject him.

“You’re perfect.” She says and kisses his neck. Her red nails holding him tight to her. He’s never fights her and breathes her in heavily.

000

“Those are nice.” Lydia says and Allison smiles and knows Lydia is on autopilot. She had been released from the hospital two weeks ago and fear still holds her tightly.

“I like them too.” Allison says instead of calling bullshit.

The earrings are blooming roses. An odd red that she’s only seen on velvet, tipped with gold. The color is fascinating and she needs to have it.

“We should do this more often.” Allison smiles at Lydia again, the girl’s green eyes still vacant.

In time, she’ll be back to herself, but until that time, Lydia has her to help her find the way back. Learning the truth, learning about werewolves was enough to rattle anyone.

Allison wears the roses, loves the red against her fair skin, feeling like Snow White, the next day and is pleased when Scott notices immediately.

000

Her closet is dark colors and red.

Allison can’t pass the color anymore without integrating it. If it’s a shade she doesn’t own, she buys it.

She has sable, crimson, scarlet, vermillion, cherry, clay, Indian, pepper, chili, rose, blush, strawberry, plastic red, cinnamon, ruby, maroon, burgundy, cardinal, lust, rusty, fire engine, redwood and barn house red.

She has a collection and she adds to it with her family’s and Scott’s help.

Her parents buy her red, any red, happy to have a quick way to appease her, buy her love back from lying to her, from hunting Scott. Their efforts only serve to damn themselves in her eyes because they don’t understand. It can’t be any red. It has to be special and what they put in her hands, faces hopeful, is plebian.

Allison _loves_ Scott.

He doesn’t understand why either. He just knows and really tries, which is better because he always gives her something new. Socks, shoe laces, gloves, a scarf, hair ties, string, lace. He doesn’t understand why she wants it, but he always delivers.

She doesn’t expect anyone else but Scott to give her exactly what she wants, but family, she’s learning, always gives you what you need.

Stiles’ lunch tray clatters on the table and she’s already smiling, loving him as an extension of Scott when he gives her a bracelet woven from so many reds her breath catches and she doesn’t look away, following each color, until it’s on her wrist.

It’s perfect.

“How—“ She’s going to ask, but lets the question die and laughs instead.

He’s wearing red too.

000

“Can I?” Scott asks.

“May I.” She corrects like he isn’t asking her permission to worship her body in the woods.

“May,” He gasps and she smiles because his mouth is red from hers and promises to decorate her in red marks that will tell everyone who she’s caught. “May I.”

“You may.” He touches her, lightly at first in the same awe he always begins with.

Allison shivers lightly, loving the goose bumps pricking her skin and the whines from his mouth as she drags her red nails down his abs, her marks fading in quicker than she can make them.

Soon, he’ll be on the verge. His nails will scrap her skin, red lines but not blood decorating her back, the hint of his fangs turning his mouth into a bloody smear, trapped between her thighs, in her, clenching his body as he fights the change until the moment she sinks her teeth into the dip of his neck and shoulder and tastes blood when he’ll roar, both their bodies spasming.

  _Soon_.

000.

It should have been enough. She was happy and she knew as long as Scott loved her, nothing would touch her. Not her parents’ desire to kill the pack of werewolves she’s comes to love more – they, the pack – understand red and treat it like it is sacred.

Allison is okay with her warring families.

Then her mother leaves their house with a pack of predators of her own. The moon’s shadow is blending into the cloak of stars. There is no _reason_.

“Hunters,” Erica snarls first.

The camaraderie that finally tangled the two packs of Beacon Hills turns into fury. The hairs on the back of Allison’s neck stand up, her grip on Scott tightens. She left her bow in her car as an act of good faith between the two packs. She’s weak. The werewolves have all shifted; their eyes are mostly amber with the exception of one pair of red.

Scott slips from her while she stares at the alpha red and she finds Stiles, knowing his eyes will be drinking in Derek’s red because that red matches his favorite red, the one he wears the most. Stiles catches her eye and smirks.

The wolves wait, Allison and Scott sharing two breaths, and they tear out of the area. It’s their urge to protect their territory, their need to protect and kill charging the air and she’s breathless, giddy even.

“Get out of here!” Derek snaps. “We’ll lead them away.”

“You heard dad.” Stiles drawls and the tethers holding them to the clearing breaks and they run.

They rush through the trees and Allison feels wonderful. She should have been running through the woods for hours every day. She’s flying. The only thing that could make this better would be if it was Scott that was hunting her.

Her father is warmth and it shows in his hunts for the ‘wolves. He’s best at on the fly maneuvering and because the pack is just as fluid, he always fails. He can never come up with contingency plans that block off all their escape routes or predict for sure what they’ll do next.

Her mother is ice. She has the woods surrounded with hunters. Their weapons loud in Allison’s ears, deafening the ‘wolves. They throw a net over Lydia who screams and these hunters will kill her (because she’s wild too, like her and Stiles), so Allison tackles the man pointing a gun at Lydia and gets an elbow to the face for her trouble.

Her lip is busted, blood trickling down her chin and Scott’s roar, “Allison!” causes the woods to burst with animal activity and he’s rushing to her, his steps coinciding with her heartbeats and it feels like moonshine and red velvet when he finds her. “Scott.” She says and she hears Stiles describing the trap they found themselves for sharper ears.

She’s at ease and safe with Scott, the sudden gunshot, a shotgun, close range, surprising them both as Scott’s human face takes over again, blood seeping his shirt into the one red only she’s allowed to make.

Her mother prefers shotguns. She searches for the woman who would dare as she cradles Scott to her, trying to stop the blood that won’t go away until they pick out all the shrapnel. Her mother is hardhearted and striking, a seraph burning with violent intent.

“Kill her, kill her!” Allison shrieks over and over.

Her mother’s face only has time to show betrayal before the pack descends on her. All the werewolves ripping chunks of Victoria Argent from her bones. The other hunters shouting in confusion and horror because now the ground is level. Before the pack ran and didn’t engage. Now the hunters run, the ‘wolves tearing them all apart and she’s viciously glad, wants them all to die for daring to take what’s hers.

000

Stiles is the one that tells her, his eyes laughing and wild. His red hoodie catching her eyes from Scott’s moving chest.

“Like some sort of wolf goddess, you were crouched over him, snarling at everyone. You tried biting Isaac when he tried reaching for him.” He smiles. “Derek had to order you to stand down.”

He seems fine. Not particularly traumatized by the previous night’s carnage. He’s just in their space, telling her what happened after their pack tore into human flesh. He’s kindred to her, nearly from the beginning she thinks and she can’t fight the small smile tugging at her lips.

“You would have killed me. If I hadn’t obeyed.”

He shrugs, his smile the same as hers and she loves him like he’s everything to her and Scott and their pack like she made him up specifically to understand and love them all. He would kill to protect his perfect red and his red is the alpha red, and a threat to the alpha’s authority is a threat to the alpha.

000

Allison can’t go home. She killed the hunter’s alpha female. It’s an insult no leader can ignore.

This is why there is pack.

Stiles holds her hand and introduces her to his father. The Sheriff doesn’t take his eyes off her split lip and bruise on her chin. He’s furious. It only takes an hour and he’s welcoming her to his home.

For all anyone knows, the Hunter really would kill her.

000

Their pack is racing through the woods. The moon is full and for the first time in a long time, it’s not just her, Stiles and Lydia curled on forest floor so tightly their red, his shade brighter, hers muted and her own dark like blood. Tonight, with the howls of victory shaking the night, Danny lays next to them, his red gloves bright like holly berries.

“They got another one.” Stiles says and yes, Allison can distinguish Isaac’s howl of joy louder than the rest.

“Got another what?” Danny asks. Curious.

“Prey.” Allison says.

Their pack is wild. They are revolutionary. They are not hunted like other werewolves. They are strong and are finally the predators nature intended them to be.

It makes her glad for her children.

They will not be hunted down like vermin. They will run through these woods, free and unafraid. Their pack mates running with them. Knowing only love and peace.

But children will wait until all hunters realize Beacon Hills belongs to them.

And she knows how to get the message across.

_The horrors my love. The never ending horror of love, the greatest thing in the world. Bittersweet like dark chocolate and a mouthful of blood._

 

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [all the reds](https://archiveofourown.org/works/651766) by [triesquid](https://archiveofourown.org/users/triesquid/pseuds/triesquid)




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